I open a new folder on the desktop and title itLNC_Relaunch.I make subfolders and stop before I start color-coding; a brand-new system won’t save me if the work doesn’t come back. I jot a list in black pen, hard lines, no doodles. Brainstorm every idea until my hand cramps.
Salem pokes his head in. He nods at me, a question mark and a period. “You good?”
“I’m upright. That’s about as good as I can say I am right now.”
“That counts.” He wanders away.
I’m surprised he hasn’t apologized for making such a mess of things, but considering his scale of screwups—at least, the ones the public knows about—maybe this is nothing to him.
I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and answer two unpaid invoices withFriendly reminder attachedsubject lines and a level of chill I’ve earned. I archive threeAre you availableemails from people who want a free brainstorm under the heading of “coffee.”
No.
I go back to the sketch and push it into the laptop with a quick photo. I trace the shapes in Illustrator and set the type with a default weight while I test angles. I keep it rough on purpose. The point isn’t to make a poster the Strip would buy. The point is to remind my hand how to move.
It’s been no time at all, and my hand is aching to stop.
Suck it up, buttercup.
Half an hour in, the suite key clicks and Knox slips back in by himself. He takes in the room like he’s logging proof of life. He walks over and looks at the sketch without invading the desk. “That’s good.”
“It’s a doodle.”
“It’s honest,” he says. “That reads.”
“Haven’t come up with a client who wantshonest.”
“You are the client. For once.”
I get what he means, but I’m not sure it matters. “I let my work get small. Not on purpose. I said yes to what was in front of me. The big stuff takes quiet and time. I got good at waiting for his keys in the lock. No quiet. No creativity.”
“Lost a lot?”
“Most of my regulars moved on. I don’t blame them. The few who stayed got the polite version of me. I hate the polite version of me.”
“You going to fix it?”
“I’m going to relaunch. Lou Navarro Creative. New site. New rules.”
He nods like we’ve already signed a contract. “Good.”
“I don’t know if there’s a market for a woman who wants to make things that don’t apologize.”
“Profound. But there is.” He taps the drawing lightly with one knuckle. “This sayshire me because I know what I’m doing, not because I’ll say yes to your cousin’s opinion.”
“The cousin always has opinions.”
“The cousin doesn’t cut checks.Art Directorcrossed my mind when I saw that.”
I huff. “You’re sweet. I’m stubborn and scrappy. That’s not the same asArt Director.”
“It’s exactly the same. You point at the thing, say what’s wrong or right, and then you make people better.”
“People are the hard part.”
“Always.” He shrugs. “They’re also the part that pays.”
I look at the sketch again and try on the title Art Director in my head. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t not fit. “Maybe.”
